


these hills are filled with whispers

by kitsunegari101



Category: The Boneshaker - Kate Milford
Genre: (that'll come in at a later chapter but ya know...best warn for it early), Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Murder-Suicide, Pining, am i messing with canon? potentially, mostly bc there's an age discrepancy in the original text, this is post-kairos mechanism with some tweaking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 23:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18766102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunegari101/pseuds/kitsunegari101
Summary: "Sure would like to hear you play that fiddle of yours sometime," Tom said, fingers idly plucking at the strings of his old tin guitar. "Not every day a single song saves a man's life."





	these hills are filled with whispers

**Author's Note:**

> thanks and apologies go to the original author, i love everyone in this universe and i would 100% die for any of them (especially tom guyot and simon coffrett)

༻❈༺

Arcane, Missouri

July, 1916

༻❈༺

 

A town at a crossroads sees a lot of people moving through at any given time of the day or year—those visiting loved ones or just stopping to rest and add to their stash of supplies before going on to wherever they'll end up when their journey comes to a stop. Arcane, however, was a  _different_ sort of town; given its proximity to Trader's Mill, which had all but disappeared in one night over a hundred years ago (the reason was still debated among the citizens) travelers rarely stayed for more than a night or two, despite the saloon almost never having guests that didn't live in town. It wasn't that they disliked the place, but it had an...aura about it that many didn't care to experience for very long.

 

Natalie Minks knew full well that Arcane was a strange place where the uncanny often happened, usually with her either at the center or playing a significant role in the strangeness. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, though, when she rode past the young man slogging into town from the direction of the crossroads. She remembered later that he looked maybe slightly more tired than usual, but it  _was_ early and though he was traveling light, it can't have been easy carrying an instrument case by hand for very long at all. As she whizzed by him, feet on the hooks on the bicycle's frame that would allow her to coast with little effort to keep the Chesterlane upright, their eyes met and he gave a smile that spoke plainly of his exhaustion before touching the knuckles of his free hand to his forehead in a salute, still making his way into the town proper.

 

Well, no matter. She and Miranda had planned the night before to meet in the fields just outside of the old village before the heat of the day came down to throw a ball around; she was getting better at catching though Miranda Porter's arm was threatening her skill the more often they played, and even the boys were hesitant to let them join neighborhood games—not because they were  _girls_ , but because they could throw and catch almost as well as Ryan or Alfred could, and the prospect of being beaten by girls they'd hung around with for so long was more embarrassing than they wanted to deal with. It wouldn't be long, Natalie thought, before they'd have to get together their own team and see if the boys wouldn't allow co-ed games to be played. The field itself still gave her the creeps, but it was just about the best place for a baseball game even if she'd gotten her arm broken there.

 

Not exactly a pleasant thought. A shudder ran through her at the memory, but she shook it off and kept on course.

 

༻❈༺

 

It was late morning—bordering on afternoon, really—before Natalie made her way back to town, pausing briefly at home to stow her bicycle in her father's workshop, scrub most of the dirt off her hands and face in the kitchen, and grab an apple from the bowl on the counter on her way out the door. Sitting down on the porch steps and taking a bite, she chewed pensively as she weighed her options for the rest of the day: wander out to the only mansion in Arcane to visit Simon Coffrett (and partake of the shade of his oak trees; it was positively sweltering); try to pester her older brother to do something with her; take a trip to the empty lot where three years ago all the oddities in her life had started? Nothing particularly appealed, except maybe visiting the soda fountain, though she knew that the coolness of whatever she ordered was sure to last only a few moments before she was baking again.

 

Still, it was a better idea than just sitting around all day and doing nothing, which had been her usual pursuit for the rest of the summer. She stood up and tossed her apple core into the garden where she hoped it'd land at least near the compost pile, stuffing her hands in her pockets and wishing for something exciting to happen as she kicked up little puffs of dust along the way. The sun was already beating down, despite it not being noon yet, and she squinted down the street. Maybe there'd be something interesting going on at the saloon? She still hadn't gotten much of an answer out of anyone else, much less her mother, about just what the odd vertigo she now experienced even meant. Perhaps she could eavesdrop on whoever might be there and gain some more knowledge, cryptic though it probably would be.

 

The saloon steps, though, were occupied and Natalie didn't feel quite comfortable trying to squeeze past whoever it was that was blocking her way. She waved halfheartedly at Mr. Coffrett, doubting he'd even see it since he seemed absorbed in whatever was holding his attention in the newspaper, and stopped short in the shade of the building. She'd seen that red-gold hair before (the exact shade of a newly-minted penny; unusual, she thought), and the battered instrument case in the person's hand, but not the fact that he was very obviously having difficulty focusing on anything around him. A sudden fear zipped down Natalie's spine and pushed her forward as the young man she'd seen just that morning swayed in place for a moment, blinking mildly as though he were merely surprised at having found himself about to enter an establishment, before crumpling to the planks with a dull thud.

 

Her breath came out in a sort of strangled squeak as Simon, paper now abandoned, shot out of his chair and managed to catch the stranger's head before it too made an impact. Natalie sprang up the steps and knelt at his side, moving the instrument case out of her way with a foot and looking back at it after a split second.  _Wait_. She'd seen something like that before, and it wasn't likely she'd ever forget the roughly-hewn shape or peculiar color of the thing that was tied to the case's handle with a length of leather cord. Her eyes slid sideways, trying to figure out what was going on, but her companion only gave a tight nod and didn't bother to look her in the face. What was the word for...whatever people like Tom Guyot and this newcomer were? "A roamer?" Natalie's voice was soft, almost incredulous, as though she didn't live in a town where at least some people would've known the alternate meaning of the word.

 

Simon nodded again, this time meeting her eyes though her own skipped over his features as though they didn't want to be seen. After a short while, he sighed and turned his attention to the stranger again, whose head was lolling rather unpleasantly on his neck. "Natalie, I need you to get Mr. Maliverny out here, and don't let him turn you out. Doc Fitzwater should be in there as well. Do you think you can talk both of them into helping me with this?"

 

Natalie sighed and pulled herself up, her hand wrapping around the handle of the case without even thinking about it. When she turned around to wait for any further instructions, Mr. Coffrett was lifting the young man's body as though it weighed nothing, though he seemed to be about as tall as the bespectacled man himself and looked as though he'd grown up doing a fair amount of physical labor. Maybe on a farm? A sharp glance sent her scrambling for the saloon door, throwing it open and drawing the attention of the few people scattered at the tables inside.

 

She'd wanted something to happen; why did this make that familiar tingle of fear spread over her body, then?

**Author's Note:**

> [fart noises] who knows if i'll ever finish this? i'm terrible at that sort of thing but sometimes you just have to exorcise your writing demons and see if the motivation carries through
> 
> apologies if this is completely incomprehensible but it's extremely almost 5 in the morning


End file.
